


At First Blush (Great Tree Moon)

by MxMearcstapa



Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ashen Demon, Byleth is learning to be human, Combat Training, Father-Daughter Relationship, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Game Dialogue, Gen, Jeralt isn't exactly forthcoming either, Mentioned Sothis (Fire Emblem), Minor Violence, Multi, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions, Other, POV Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, POV Multiple, POV My Unit | Byleth, Retelling, Rhea is sketchy, Silent Sothis, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Sparring, it's a romance i promise, protective jeralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25255417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxMearcstapa/pseuds/MxMearcstapa
Summary: She had asked him to choose the weapon he was most comfortable with, so of course he chose the lance. He tested the weight of a training weapon with a few practice thrusts and, satisfied, waited for the professor’s instruction. Across from him, the professor lifted a wooden sword and flipped it first in one hand, then from one to the other. She sliced at the air, then held the sword aloft and bent her knees.Anticipation coiled in Dimitri as he positioned himself. He tried to hide his smile.“Begin,” he barely heard her say before she rushed him.In which Dimitri tests his mettle against the new professor, and Byleth has a conversation of interest with the Archbishop.
Relationships: Blue Lions Students & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Rhea
Series: Lunar Haruspex: A Blue Lions Story [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584496
Comments: 18
Kudos: 78





	At First Blush (Great Tree Moon)

**Author's Note:**

> Note: beating up children is not cool. Also, Rhea has understandably terrible judgment. Byleth is a hot mess, and I suppose Dimitri is for that matter, too. These people all need therapists. 
> 
> Enjoy! :D

Dimitri stood across from the new Blue Lions professor in the arena. On the sidelines, his classmates waited, chattering excitedly. The first few days of classes had seen them demonstrating their proficiencies to their new instructor. While her thoroughness and attention to detail was appreciated, they were ready to begin learning from her. So when the professor asked if Dimitri would assist in a practical demonstration, he was more than happy to oblige. So far, Dimitri was the only one that had seen their new professor in action, and he was eager to show off her skill, to show the Blue Lion house they had a promising year ahead of them with a capable professor.

  
That, and he was interested to see how they would fare against each other.

  
She had asked him to choose the weapon he was most comfortable with, so of course he chose the lance. He tested the weight of a training weapon with a few practice thrusts and, satisfied, waited for the professor’s instruction. Across from him, the professor lifted a wooden sword and flipped it first in one hand, then from one to the other. She sliced at the air, then held the sword aloft and bent her knees.

  
Anticipation coiled in Dimitri as he positioned himself. He tried to hide his smile.

  
“Begin,” he barely heard her say before she rushed him. A moment’s hesitation more and she would have scored the first hit; instead, her sword cracked so loudly against his lance that he thought it might break.

  
She was fast. She was devastatingly fast.

  
He knew she was quick. He had seen her overwhelm the bandits that pursued them and been impressed then. He thought having seen her speed would have been enough to prepare for it.

  
It was not, and he was not impressed now. He did not have time to be impressed.

  
Blow after blow, her pursuit was relentless. She was on his right, then his left. A moment’s shift, and he swung—she ducked under him and struck his calf. Pain radiated up his leg. Grunting, he turned just in time to parry her next hit. He swept low, and she whirled away, darting back in before he could recover. The lance was not meant for combat this close, and she used it against him.

  
With a cold shock, Dimitri realized she was boxing him into a corner. Anger flooded him, hot and fierce. He had not expected to win this fight, but he did not think he would be so soundly beaten. He hadn’t even managed a single hit on her. _Think_. What were his advantages? She might have speed, but he had about half a foot’s height on her. If he couldn’t match her velocity, he could certainly beat her in strength. His Crest of Blaiddyd assured that. 

  
He waited—not long—for the next hit. When her sword came up, he swung the lance down, blood singing with his Crest. There was a flash of light, and the tip of his lance splintered into the ground. Panic seized him. Had he hit her with that? If so, she’d be seriously hurt. A solid _whack_ to his side answered him. He staggered, chest flaring with pain. It was so strong that his eyes watered. Had she broken one of his bones?

  
_Focus. Focus!_

  
The professor’s face came into view for a moment, dripping blood. He had hit her, then. Pride and shame swelled in him in equal measure. A hit, but not a clean hit, but she was okay. Pain, however, slowed him down. She knocked the lance from his hands, and with a kick, his feet from under him. 

  
Dimitri landed on his bottom, blinking in quiet surprise. It was over so quickly. The bitterness of defeat bubbled through him as he considered his mistakes—and they had been numerous. He allowed her to take control of the situation. He had not been aware of his surroundings. He had let anger, and the Crest of Blaiddyd, dictate his actions. On the defense, he could do little, and without a weapon, he could do less. 

  
Simply put, he had underestimated her.

  
_Foolish_.

  
He had probably appeared overconfident to her. A spoiled noble brat with a big mouth but no skill to back it up. He wished he could redo the whole thing. As the high of the fight wore off, his bitterness multiplied with the pain of his injuries. Was it necessary to have hit him so hard in a practice battle? Magic could heal the bulk of the injury, but likely it would still be bruised for a time. Not to mention the bruise to his ego. 

  
Magic could not heal that.

  
On the other hand…it had been awhile since he had felt truly challenged in a fight. He could only imagine what it looked like from the sidelines. He would love to have seen it—the professor hurtling through the air, striking and spinning away, brutal and elegant in equal parts. He hoped he would get to observe her from a distance—though he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. He wasn’t sure most of his classmates could stomach the ferocity of her blows.

In the end, Dimitri laughed. “That was excellently done, Professor! What a—”

  
Something hard and cold pressed against his throat. Bewildered, he looked up. The professor stood over him, face a bloodied mask, dagger in hand, every inch her namesake.

  
An ashen demon.

  
“The battle is not over until your opponent is dead,” she said softly.

  
He was going to die. She was going to kill him, his professor, he had trusted her—

  
She sheathed the dagger.

  
“You fight for your life. Don’t give your opponents an opening.”

  
Dimitri put a hand to his neck as she walked away. Dedue rushed to his side, Sylvain and Ingrid close behind him.

  
_Can I learn to be that heartless?_

  
“Your Highness, are you okay?”

  
“Dimitri, she beat the hell out of you!”

  
Dimitri laughed again, chasing away his darker thoughts. “I’m fine, really. Nothing a little magic can’t fix. Is our professor okay? I fear when I triggered my Crest that I might have done more damage than I intended.”

  
Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Concerned about your single hit, are you? We’re lucky you’re still in one piece.”

  
“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,” Ingrid marveled. “I thought you were done for. Sorry, Your Highness.”

  
“No apologies necessary,” he chuckled. “I thought I was done for myself.”

  
“Before or after she threatened you with a dagger?” Dedue muttered, glaring towards the professor. She stood in front of Mercedes, who had her arms out, white magic at her fingertips.

  
“It was a demonstration, Dedue. Had she been an enemy, I would have given her the perfect opportunity.” Had she been an enemy, he would not have congratulated her, of course. But it was imperative the others not doubt her. If, as class leader, he played along, they might accept it. He tried to stand. Winced. It was possible he’d need to go to the infirmary before the lesson was over. With Dedue’s assistance, he stood.

  
“I am not certain she is not,” Dedue replied.

  
“What a thing to say about our professor.” The venom in Ingrid’s tone was matched only by the look in her eyes. Her intensity surprised Dimitri. It had been rude, yes, but Ingrid’s reaction seemed disproportionate. Before Dimitri could ask her about it, the professor and Mercedes had made their way over. The rest of the class slowly gathered around them.

  
“You shouldn’t be standing, Dimitri,” Mercedes chastised. “Dedue, will you help him sit down, please?”

  
He saw stars as they sat him down, and he laughed again. Mercedes frowned.

  
“You might have overdone it, Professor. You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you, Dimitri?”

  
“It does hurt a bit, yes,” he conceded. With the concise efficiency of a practiced healer, Mercedes flexed her fingers and peeled his shirt up. Before Dimitri could protest, the cool sensation of magic washed over his side, prickling and numbing as it went. He groaned involuntarily. Sharply, the professor looked over. He thought she might chastise Mercedes until he saw her eyes. Wide, and blinking rapidly. She knelt down on the other side of him, across from Mercedes, and studied the injury in a way that almost seemed shy. Surely she had known the extent of the damage. Her intent had been to injure him…hadn’t it? 

  
She looked him in the eyes, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end again. Her brow wrinkled, and the intensity of the look passed.

  
“I’m sorry,” she said. Confusion gripped Dimitri. He did not know how to respond.

  
Nearby, Felix scoffed. “Sorry? That was incredible! Worth a few injuries on the Boar for certain.”

  
“Felix, that’s so mean!” Ashe protested.

  
“Don’t pretend you weren’t impressed. Can we learn to do that? You’ll teach us to do that, right? Spar with me next.”

  
Hand on her chin, she considered the idea. “Do you also break weapons?”

  
“No, only he does.” Felix smirked.

  
The professor fixed Dimitri in her blistering gaze again. “An interesting maneuver.”

  
Heat crept to Dimitri’s ears. “My Crest—”

  
“Yes, yes, your Crest is no excuse for a lack of control.” Felix shook his head, refusing to look at him. The professor’s hair swished as her head swiveled between them.

  
“Is that what that light was?” she asked.

  
Dimitri cleared his throat. He was glad for the cool sensation of Mercedes’ magic, or the heat from his face might have set his body on fire. “It was.”

  
A pause. 

  
“Professor, have you never seen a Crest?”

  
She didn’t answer right away. Just as he was about to speak again, she looked away and said, “I don’t recall.”

  
“That’s quite understandable. For the most part, only the nobility has Crests. I imagine with your mercenary background that you’ve had interactions with nobles, but likely you haven’t had cause to fight any.”

  
The professor looked around slowly, studying each of them, as though she could see some physical indicator of a Crest on their bodies. “Do you all have Crests?”

  
“I don’t,” Ashe answered, looking away as though chagrined. Dimitri made a note to speak with him later, to have a friendly conversation. As the adopted son of Lord Lonato, Ashe was likely to inherit Castle Gaspard, though he had been born a commoner, or so Dimitri had heard. The unusual nature of his situation must burden him, Dimitri reasoned. Surrounded by Crest-bearing nobility for the year had to be intimidating. Already he noticed that Ashe seemed to have trouble speaking to him. And besides that, Ashe looked like he could use a friend.

  
“Nor do I,” Dedue added, scrutinizing the professor coldly. Dimitri sighed inwardly. Dedue was going to take some convincing. His reaction was logical, to be sure, or at the very least, expected. The professor had done a fair number on him. Sitting up, he pressed a hand to his rib. Only barely tender. Quietly, Dimitri thanked Mercedes, and she smiled back.

  
“I have a Crest,” the professor said quietly, staring at her arm like she expected it to manifest.

  
“Oh, you do?” That was a surprise. She was a mercenary, wasn’t she? For someone…unassociated with nobility, that was quite unusual. Did Jeralt have a Crest? Could it have come from her mother, perhaps? Curiosity burned in him, but he could not ask much without risking rudeness. “Which Crest do you bear?”

  
“I…don’t know.”

  
“You don’t _know_?” Sylvain asked roughly. Ingrid elbowed him in the chest.

  
The professor’s eyes widened slightly again. She took a measured look around, and then, haltingly spoke, “The instrument could not determine which one.”

  
“An undiscovered Crest?” Annette gasped. “Professor, that’s incredible!”

  
The professor shrugged, but Dimitri wondered. “Incredible” seemed an apt description of her, to be certain.

  
“We are getting off-task,” she said, standing up. Dimitri rose next to her. “I have seen you fight. Now you’ve seen me. Form a line.”

  
As they did so, she walked across the training grounds. She indicated a line on the ground with the wooden sword. 

  
“Run here. Then back. Then again.”

  
“For how long?” Mercedes asked, frowning.

  
“Until you cannot.”

  
The Blue Lions groaned collectively. Dimitri smiled, enthusiasm budding in him again. This would be the year that made a difference. The professor was going to help him get faster. Stronger. 

  
He would be able to avenge the dead.

  
The professor walked back over to them, and stared intensely at Dimitri.

  
“You fought well,” she told him.

  
Dimitri smiled. “Thank you, Professor.”

  
She tapped the sword to the ground again.

  
“Begin.”

* * *

Byleth was lost. 

  
She had never been in a place long enough to need to know its layout, and the monastery was sprawling. Every building was tall and sandy-colored on the outside, every interior spacious and looping. Individual rooms, she could remember a little better: the dining hall was easy because of the tables, the stained glass of the cathedral was difficult to mistake, and the training grounds she could see as soon as she stepped out of her bedroom. But getting anywhere else—and on time, for that matter—was a challenge. It was much easier to follow whoever wished to speak to her to their destination, but then there was the trouble of getting back to her room…

  
So far, no one had bothered to ask her where she was going, so she was spared the trouble of having to explain.

  
And not only that, but she was alone. Byleth had never spent so much time away from her father. She was used to following him wherever they went. Now, for the first time, they had separate schedules. His new position as Captain of the Knights of Seiros took up a lot of his time—this week she had not even seen him until after dinner. There was so much to contend with, a mess left behind by his aging predecessor: paperwork, interviews, training sessions, and so on. Even if he hadn’t been so occupied, Byleth had little time to trail him herself. She was grappling with keeping the days of the week straight, attempting to construct lesson plans, and training her own students. And everywhere she went, her new brood followed like ducklings.

  
And Sothis, the voice in her head, went so suddenly quiet that Byleth thought she might have dreamt her to begin with. 

  
It was all rather overwhelming.

  
Today was her day off—at least, she thought it was, based on the calendar. She had wandered into the classroom just to be sure (after she walked into the _wrong_ classroom, and blinked in confusion at the red banners) and found it empty. Her father had promised to eat with her on her next day off. It only then occurred to Byleth, in the middle of her empty classroom, that her father had not said whether or not he’d have the day off as well, or even where he would be. She decided to start her search for him in his office, but…locating his office was the next step.

  
The most she remembered about her father’s office was that it was somewhere _upstairs_ and that it was full of books. But where were there stairs? Byleth exited the classroom and headed towards the nearest tall building she could see. She rounded a corner indoors, stopping just short of running into someone.

  
“Ah, Professor Eisner.” With a smile like a flower blooming in the early morning, the Archbishop greeted her. “And where are you off to this fine day in such a rush?”

  
Byleth froze. Her father had told her to be wary of the Archbishop. Something about the woman unsettled her. The Archbishop had a forced tranquility to her, like the world before a great storm let loose. She radiated power, in every gentle step, in every delicate turn of her wrist. A hurricane hidden behind a soothing smile. But she was also the head of the entire monastery, and Byleth’s father had deferred to her in a way Byleth had never seen. Everyone Byleth had spoken to or overheard seemed in awe of her, from the knights to servants, both faculty and students alike. And, Byleth had to admit, there was something about the Archbishop that drew her in as well.

  
She didn’t like that.

  
“I’m looking for my father,” Byleth told her.

  
“Of course,” said the Archbishop, gracefully inclining her head. “May I take you to him?”

  
She weighed the costs to the benefits. She did not want to spend more time with the Archbishop than was necessary, but she was also very lost, and she wanted to see her father. The thought of being away from him for longer was beginning to make her jaw clench.

  
Byleth relented, nodding. The Archbishop smiled and offered her arm. When Byleth hesitated, the Archbishop wilted visibly, and a pang of something heavy shot through Byleth’s chest. Reluctantly, she took the Archbishop’s arm. The woman perked up so brightly that the heaviness left Byleth with some warmth in its wake. Byleth looked away. She did not like any of this.

  
“It is quite interesting how like your father you are in some ways,” the Archbishop said as she led them around another corner and up a set of stairs, the placid smile still affixed to her face. “I wonder if you will be like your mother in some ways as well.”

  
Byleth stopped on the stairwell.

  
“You knew my mother?”

  
The shift in the expression on the Archbishop’s face made Byleth feel like a fish on a line. With a spike of panic, she realized she had walked into something without even knowing how. She wanted to leave. She did not like conversations. They were so difficult to navigate. The smile on the Archbishop’s lips was magnanimous.

  
“Of course. This brooch you wear was a gift that I gave. I remember how pleased she was to receive it.” 

  
Byleth looked down at the ornate pin on her chest. Gingerly, she turned it in the fingers of her free hand. Her father had said nothing about it but that it belonged to her mother, and that was all he would say about either subject. Not that Byleth had never cared to ask before, especially when it seemed to pain him so. Was the Archbishop telling the truth? Had this been a gift to her mother from the church? Her father said Byleth had been born after leaving the monastery—is this where they had met? Too many questions vied for answers, so Byleth asked none. Eyes narrowed, she looked back up at the Archbishop.

  
“Has Jeralt not told you?” The Archbishop pressed a hand to her chest, an echo of Byleth’s own gesture. “That is rather surprising, but perhaps it is not my place to tell then.”

  
What was that supposed to mean?

  
A gentle tug at Byleth’s arm informed her they were moving again. Lost in her thoughts, she let the Archbishop pull her closer to her father.

  
“I trust your teaching is going well?”

  
Byleth snapped her head up. The Archbishop so rapidly cycled through topics of discussion that Byleth was having trouble keeping up. Slowly, she nodded. “I…think so.”

  
“I have heard your methods are...quite different.”

  
Different how? No one had ever taught her how to train anyone—she only knew how to fight, how to spar. Often, her father had trained members of their mercenary band by pitting them against her. She strained to remember anything else he had ever done and found the memories had slipped away like fog. If she could have found him to ask him, she would have, but they were both so frustratingly _busy_. 

  
Byleth stopped again, dimly aware they had reached the top of the staircase. The hallway looked vaguely familiar. She bit the inside of her cheek. 

  
“Am I doing something wrong?” she asked. 

  
The Archbishop looked back, the puzzled look on her face refreshingly genuine. Then, the puzzlement soured into something else; she frowned. Byleth thought this was perhaps the first unguarded reaction she had seen from the older woman. The Archbishop shook her head, the ornaments from her headpiece clinking softly.

  
“Dear child, of course not. I meant it as praise.” She took Byleth’s hands in her own, and Byleth was surprised to find them cold. “Professors Hanneman and Manuela are certainly knowledgeable, but they lack your…experience in the field, shall we say. What you will provide for your students that they cannot will be invaluable.”

  
From a doorway nearby, her father popped his head out. He took them in, eyes widening. 

  
“Kid! And…Lady Rhea.”

  
Swiftly, he approached them. In a manner that seemed almost girlish, the Archbishop tilted her head to the side.

  
“It seems we have arrived. I shall leave you with one final thought: do bear in mind that even as you are appraising your students, they are appraising you as well. I hope that you will do your best to form lasting bonds with your flock. Oh, and I look forward to witnessing your prowess in the mock battle.”

  
She wanted Byleth to form lasting bonds with her students? Some members of her father’s mercenary band had been with them Byleth’s entire life, and she could not remember their names, their families, or even what they liked to eat—and she assumed they felt much the same, given the breadth they gave her at camp and on the battlefield. She and her students were stuck together for only the calendar year, weren’t they? And then they’d be gone, off to whatever nobles and their ilk got off to. Their time together was but a fraction of a lifetime. Why should she need to bond with people she would never see again, regardless of the length of time they were required to spend together? Tension tightened in Byleth’s shoulders.

  
How long was she going to be at the monastery?

  
Her father stood next to her, bowing hastily. He kept his face neutral, but Byleth thought the Archbishop would have to be a fool not to have seen his urgency. Regardless, her father was with her again. Relief threatened to weaken her knees. She pulled her hands away from the Archbishop, whose eyes flickered to Byleth, but as ever, the smile remained. Had she not seen it drop herself, Byleth would have assumed it was permanently attached.

  
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Lady Rhea?”

  
“Such formality, Jeralt. I was merely assisting your…daughter. It brings me great joy to see the two of you spending time together. I imagine you have not had much of a chance as of late.”

  
“Indeed.” Her father cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. “You have my thanks.”

  
“It was nothing, truly. But I will leave you both to bond.” She looked to Byleth. “Thank you for accompanying me. I hope we have the opportunity to speak again soon. May the goddess guide your steps.”

  
With a swish of her robes, the Archbishop was gone. Byleth’s father raised an eyebrow and ushered her into his office. He glanced back through the doorway before closing the doors behind him. With a deep sigh, he ran a hand through his hair.

  
“She…Rhea didn’t say anything weird to you, did she?” 

  
Byleth leaned against a bookshelf. It seemed to her that everything the Archbishop said was strange in one way or another. If there was something her father wanted to know in particular or that she should be looking out for, he would need to say so. Although…the mention of her mother was unexpected. Byleth touched a hand to her brooch again. In her periphery, she saw her father stiffen. She let the question drop with her hand.

  
“She’s friendly,” Byleth said.

  
“That’s a little weird.” Her father smiled. “Though pretty normal for Rhea, I guess. She’s always been fond of me. And...”

  
With a sigh, he closed the book on his desk and put it back on a nearby shelf. 

  
“Heard you beat your house leader up pretty badly,” her father said, turned away. Byleth could hear the amusement in his tone. Was he proud of her? The other students hadn’t been impressed but for Scowl, though she supposed she hadn’t meant to impress them. She had meant to send a message. “Maybe don’t kill the brats before they see real battle.”

  
“They need to be ready.” She frowned. Was she supposed to go easy on them? If so, they would not survive. And The Lance had already seen real battle at least once, when they were fighting off the bandits. That was part of why she chose him for the demonstration. 

  
The other part was that he was the only one that would approach her.

  
Byleth crossed her arms. “What would you do?”

  
“You’re getting them in physical shape? Laps, repetitions, the works, like we do?” he asked. Byleth nodded. “Then not much different. They’re young. Soft. Especially the smaller ones, like that freckled kid and the girl with the pigtails. Those kids all need to improve themselves physically as well as mentally. Getting them in shape is the easy part. The hard part is seeing their eyes change.”

  
Byleth regarded him curiously. What did he mean by that? And if this was the easy part…Byleth couldn’t imagine things being more difficult than they already were. Her father smiled and put a hand on her shoulder.

  
“Don’t worry on it too much for now, kid. Let’s get some lunch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, look! I'm not dead! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked this or any of its companion pieces, please leave a comment! If you didn't, dear goddess, don't tell me; I'm too soft.
> 
> So this chapter originally had a lot more planned in it, but *circumstances* resulted in this being the finished chapter. Pros of this: I now have more written for upcoming chapters and will be posting more soon! I hope! There's definitely a lot of things written and being written in the background!
> 
> Also, kind of started this as a gap-filling project of personal indulgence, and now it's becoming something of a slightly canon-divergent retelling? Also, I swear it's a romance someday.
> 
> This chapter doesn't have a song title/inspiration, regrettably. I kinda just endlessly looped "Fodlan Winds" and "Arcana Code" from the soundtrack.


End file.
